


to hell and back

by curiositas



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, During Canon, Gen, how do i tag hahakdjfsdf, jack is sad n angy, specs is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositas/pseuds/curiositas
Summary: After the newsies celebrate making the front page of the New York Sun, Specs goes to find Jack Kelly. The only place he hasn't looked is the Refuge, though it isn't Jack he finds when he gets there.(This is basically the events between "King of New York" and "Watch What Happens (Reprise)" from Specs' perspective)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	to hell and back

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how much stuff Specs does behind the scenes lately, so I decided to write this for him.

Specs remembered it all.

He remembered the second day of the strike and that fleeting moment where, for once, they felt like everything was okay. They felt like they were winning as they tore and tossed newspapers into the air, watching and dancing as they rained down like confetti. Their voices and cheers rang throughout Newsie Square, yells of acclamation and victory. For once, they didn’t have to worry about whether they were gonna make enough money to eat or not, whether they would even make it through the day or not. Every worry in every newsboy and newsgirl’s mind seemed to melt away in that moment of pure joy and celebration.

But that moment was brief.

He remembered the celebration beginning to die down as they all saw Wiesel, the Delanceys, and a few other goons pull up to the scene. He remembered how confident they all were, not ready to give up their victory so quickly, and so they fought. They all got injured pretty badly, but it was soon to be the least of their problems. He remembered hearing Jack’s voice over the commotion, yelling for them to scatter as soon as the cops showed up. He helped a couple other newsies get out before they booked it. Adrenaline pumped through his head as he ran through the streets, more scared for his life than ever, and he barely made it to the Lodging House. He helped everyone there get patched up.

He was lucky he made it out in time. They were all soaked pretty badly, others were even arrested.

The next morning, Katherine brought the news that they had made it to the front page of the _New York Sun._ A stark turnaround from yesterday’s events, they celebrated at Jacobi’s, but they all realized that Jack didn’t even drop by. Specs asked and looked around for their leader’s whereabouts, but nobody seemed to know. He wasn’t at the Lodging House, the circulation gate, his selling spot, not even at his “penthouse”. A wave of fear began to hit, the possibility that he’d wound up in the Refuge like many of them did.

He contemplated returning to _that place._ Anyone who has ever wound up in the Refuge one way or another will tell you that it’s hell on earth. It didn’t matter who you were, it didn’t matter whether you’d even done anything wrong or not. Even if a kid would look the slightest bit suspicious, Snyder and his cops would be bolting after them, and by god, they’d better know how to run. And if they do catch you, your chances of ever getting out are gonna be slim to none. Specs had spent time in there himself, and he’d be speaking for all the newsies when he’d say that he wouldn’t wish it even on his own worst enemy.

None of them would ever willingly be within fifty feet of that place again. But if Jack wouldn’t show up himself soon, even after searching high and low, then he had no other choice.

* * *

Specs knew the bulls would be fewer if he came later at night, but he couldn’t be too careful. Ghosts of the past tried to consume his mind as he got closer and closer to the damned place, but he pushed it all back. If his head wouldn’t be clear, he might have to relive them.

He climbed the fire escape. He looked through every window to see if he could spot Jack or anyone else he knew, but he could mostly only see vague silhouettes because of how many kids there were. His heart was beating so loudly that he thought it would burst right out of his chest.

Eventually, by the light of the moon, he chanced a familiar face sitting on the top bunk.

“Crutch!” he whispered, trying his best not to shout out of surprise.

The boy’s face lit up, the first time in a while. “Specs!” he replied. He looked around frantically and leaned forward. “What are ya doin’ here?!”

“I’m lookin’ for Jack,” he mumbled. “You seen him?”

“No, sorry. Did they get him too?”

Specs shook his head. “I dunno that yet. We couldn’t find him yesterday.”

Crutchie’s smile wilted ever so slightly. “Oh!” His eyes widened as he quickly reached under his pillow. “Speakin’ of Jack, if you do see him, could you hand him this?”

Specs held the slightly crumpled piece of paper in his hands, glancing down at it and nodding. His eyes darted around the room, remembering he shouldn’t be staying around for long.

“Hey,” he said, looking him in the eye. “Just hold on tight. We’re gonna get you outta here, alright?”

It could have been a trick of the light, but Specs could have sworn Crutchie’s eyes begin to glow with hope. A trusting, child-like kind of hope that reminded him too much of his little sister. They knew escaping this kind of hellhole was a longshot, but it was the kind of promise that they _wanted_ to believe.

With the promise of something brighter ahead, Crutchie nodded and Specs slinked back on his way. After searching the last floor, his heart sank. He was out of luck. He heard some commotion and quickened his pace, managing to escape without anyone seeing him.

When he was sure that no one was following him, he slipped into an alleyway and collapsed on an old crate. For a moment, he absentmindedly stared at the brick wall in front of him as he caught his breath. The only thing he could think about was how stunned and relieved he was. He figured running back to the Refuge and managing to walk away alive was something only someone like Jack would be able to pull off.

He was brought back to reality when his palm crossed something crumpled in his pocket. Speaking of Jack...

He bit his lip, thinking about how he would find him now. He had searched all over for the guy, where else could he go? Maybe he could have gone over to Brooklyn, asking again for their aid in the strike. But Specs couldn’t go there, not even if he wanted to. Second to the Refuge, Brooklyn was the place to go if you wanted to get stomped into the ground. He couldn’t have gone far, he figured, unless he had already hopped on a train to Santa Fe without saying goodbye. It was always his dream to, anyways.

And then it clicked. A lot of kids, himself included, would run to Jack Kelly if they were in trouble, but where does Jack Kelly run to when _he’s_ in trouble?

Where better to escape trouble than the theater?

* * *

After eating stale donuts and curdled coffee at the church, Specs went his own way the following morning. He knew his way around New York City enough to remember where Medda’s Theater was. 34th Sparrow Street. He knew that they didn’t let kids in, especially kids like him, so he had to find another way in. Lady Luck seemed to favor him again that day, because he managed to find the entrance to the basement. And better yet, he recognized who was on the other side.

He climbed through the narrow basement window and let his feet land loudly on the ground. Jack jumped at the sound, making him drop his paintbrush. Specs chuckled. He turned his head in his direction, and sighed.

“What are you doin’ here?” glared Jack.

“I should be askin’ you,” Specs replied. “We was at Jacobi’s yesterday, we couldn’t find ya.”

Jack turned back to the white slab and continued working on his gorgeous painted sky. Specs’ mouth gaped. He had always known he was an artist, but the boy had never seen anything like _this._ “You pictured that?”

He simply shrugged.

“Where’s that?” asked Specs. “Santa Fe?”

“‘Kay, look: you wanted to find me, you found me. You did your job,” snapped Jack, not looking away. Specs didn’t expect him to be this defensive, especially this early in the morning, but a part of him understood why he would be.

“I get that you probably wanna be alone, but I brought ya somethin’,” he said, pulling out the letter. “It’s from Crutchie.”

At the mention of his best friend’s name, Jack felt a wave of guilt crash down on him. He slowly turned to look at Specs. “You went to the Refuge?” he shouted.

“Yeah--”

“Why?!”

“I was lookin’ for ya!”

“Wh- Did anyone see you? Do you know what could ‘ave happened to you?!”

“We both do!” Specs retorted.

His voice bounced off the walls and faded away. They stood and stared, both ready to argue if the other would start. Jack’s brows furrowed as Specs handed him the note. His eyes traced the messy words in pencil and all their misspellings. The whole world seemed to vanish as his eyes caught the little drawing Crutchie had made of an officer hitting him with his crutch at the bottom of the page. Jack cursed and swatted the air. He heaved a sigh as he ran a hand through his messy hair, and he looked away to rub his eyes. Silence stretched between them, Jack fixed on rereading the letter.

“You seen him?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly. Specs nodded. “How is he?”

“Soaked pretty bad, but he was doin’ alright when I saw him.”

Jack nodded, his mouth stretched into a thin line. He tucked the paper into the pocket of his paint-splattered apron and rubbed his face with his palms. “Shit, Specs...what if he don’t make it?” he practically whispered. “I mean- the kid’s strong, always smilin’ no matter what, but…”

“Then, I guess we gotta do everythin’ we can,” Specs hesitantly began. “I promised we’d get him outta there, and then there was this look on his face. I ain’t never seen anythin’ like it in a long time, but it sure looked like he believed it. _Really_ believed it.

“I ain’t no good with words, but if he believes what I told him, ain’t that a reason to keep goin’?”

“But we got stomped into the ground. All of you’s is hurt because of me,” replied Jack, gesturing to the bandage wrapped around the other boy’s arm.

“It ain’t your fault, Jack. None of us blame ya for what happened back there.” Specs paused. “I forget who said it, but half them trolley workers is laid up with broke bones, right? They didn’t quit just because a’ dat. I saw ‘em rallyin’ outside on my way here.”

“There is no way I am puttin’ you back in danger.” Specs froze as Jack shot an icy glare at him. A chill went up his neck; it was one of the only times he heard Jack with this kind of dead seriosity. And when Jack Kelly meant something, by god, he did.

“You said it yourself. The trolley workers are strikin’ for the same things we’s is. They didn’t quit, and neither should we.”

“Try an’ tell that to the others.”

“Jack--"

“Ain’t you got papes to sell?”

“Crutchie don’t.”

Jack’s eyes widened, feeling something break inside his chest. Specs’ mirrored his expression and took a step back, surprised at how quickly and casually the remark came out of his mouth. Jack’s shock soon turned into boiling rage. He marched up to his visitor.

“Let’s say you strike some more, yeah? What happens then? How many heads will the cops have to bust until things get better? How many kids’ll ‘ave’ta be arrested, huh? How many?” 

Those words echoed in Specs’ mind. He scrambled to think of what to say to the one towering over him. Right now, he didn’t want anything more than to convince him, tell him that getting back up on their feet would be worth it. That doing it for Crutchie and all their friends in the Refuge would be worth it.

But instead, he frowned and shook his head. He turned his back and climbed back out the window, once again faced with the bustling streets he knew so well. Jack only watched in silence as he left, the realization of what just happened hitting him only now. Now that he thought about it, his friend, his brother had a point, but he couldn’t bear himself to bring his newsies, his family back into such a situation like that. It was the worst fight they’d gotten into, and after seeing what happened on that day, he figured that none of the fellas would want to see him again anymore. Especially after how he drove Specs away.

He looked back at the scene he was painting, an open desert with a sun-soaked sky. As childish as it seemed, he wanted to believe it would magically turn into a door that would lead into the place it portrayed. A place so different from New York, a place so different from the life he was living.

Santa Fe had never sounded like a better idea.

The sky was turning a pale blue as golden rays of morning sun lit up the city. Almost immediately after, Specs began making his way back to the circulation gate, but not to buy newspapers. It pained him to see his brother like this, and he wanted to help him in any way he could. But if he couldn’t convince him, he knew someone that damn well could.

* * *

“Hey, Davey! Les! Racer!”

The brothers stopped and turned around to see him running towards them down the street.

“Yo, Specs, what’s the rush?” asked Race.

“We couldn’t find ya all morning,” added Les. The boy slowed down and caught his breath.

“I found Jack,” he said.

“You did?!”

“Where?” asked Davey. “Is he okay?”

“Medda’s,” replied Specs, pushing up his glasses. “He’s fine.”

The three of them sighed in relief. “What’s he doin’ there?”

“Paintin’. You should go check it out, he’s _really good._ ”

“He’s got aptitude,” Les remarked. Race and Specs raised an eyebrow and looked at each other. “A what?”

“Aptitude!”

The two newsboys shook their heads.

Davey put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “This is great! We have a plan, and now we’ve got Jack. We just need to get Katherine and then tell him about the rally.”

The four of them began their way to the _New York Sun_ building. The walk was filled with chatter and jokes, a relaxing breather from the situation in the stuffy basement. Specs also told them all about what happened at the Refuge the previous night.

“Crutchie must be lucky to have brothers who care for him,” said Davey. The others smiled and nodded.

Race went up the fire escape to Katherine’s office window. “Are those supposed to be the only way we can get around?” Davey joked.

“You only get so many choices when you’s a newsie,” laughed Specs.

The town around them was busy and alive while they waited. Customers were buying from shops, couples were sitting on park benches, folks were heading to and from work. The air was filled with the voices of vendors, the blended smells of street food, and the warmth of the late morning sun. The three boys were just specs of dust in the ever-changing world that was New York City.

Specs glanced at Davey who was looking out into the street from where they sat. Being with him and knowing that everyone was incredibly on-board with the idea of the rally, that was enough to clear his head. Even if he and Les had only known Jack for just four days, through the strike, the Jacobs brothers had become just as part of the family as anyone else was.

Not long after, Katherine walked out of the building and greeted the boys. Kat, Les, and Davey headed to the theater while Race and Specs went their own way. They bid each other farewell and agreed to meet up again at the Lodging House after they’d gotten Jack on their side. And he could take rest in the fact: if anyone could convince the famous Jack Kelly, it would most definitely be them. 


End file.
